The Way I Am
by VampyreChildLynx
Summary: A short song fic about the long love between Arthur and Francis in Arthur's point of view to "The Way I Am" by Ingrid Michealson. This yaoi man love! Please Read and Review!


**Disclaimer: I own nothing! Not the song, the anime, the characters NOTHING! I do own the plot bunny though! :D**

**This shit literally came from NOWHERE! I'm working on finishing A Little Less Maple Syrup A Little More Action and this fucking song got stuck in my head. And the all I could think about was them!**

**Anyway I hope you enjoy this cause I enjoyed writing it. It gets a little sad at the end...I'm warning you!**

* * *

_**If you were falling, then I would catch you.  
You need a light, I'd find a match.**_

**Cause I love the way you say good morning.**  
**And you take me the way I am.**

* * *

I've been living in America for 5 years. I'd just finished my Masters degree in British Literature and the economy had tanked a mere year before. I had no money and was effectively stranded in a country where jobs were being dissolved and outsourced daily.

After a long day of interviews and job hunting I'd hit bottom. I had only enough money for one more month of rent and maybe a months worth of cheap noodles...if I ate 1 meal a day.

No money...no way back to Britain.

I went home to my tiny apartment and finished off the last of my liter of Loch Lomond Scotch,which only got me a bit tipsy. So I made my way to the little gay bar across the street and flirted my way to drunkenness. Two beers, four shots, and one mixed drink later I was properly pissed on liquid fire.

I was just about to attempt to stumble my way across the street home, when I crashed into someone at the door.

"Sorry, mate, I'm ruined at the moment," I managed to slur out.

"No, no I think I fell into you," a voice slurred.

When I finally got my vision straight I was looking right into a pair of gorgeous blue eyes. His long hair was all a mess but it looked good around his gorgeous face.

"Oh...blow me," I nearly whispered so surprised I'd run into this beauty.

A wide grin marred his gorgeous face before he slurred "Don't mind if I do...Monsieur Anglais." in the most disgusting frog accent I think has ever spoken. At the time however I was devoid of my usual impeccable judgment and invited the bloody bastard home.

We stumbled around drunkenly, messed around, and fucked like spring rabbits. After God only knows how long, we both passed out in mess of sheets, flesh and bodily fluids.

The next morning I sat shamefully looking at the sexy and passed out nude man beside me. He stirred and sat up as I was lighting my morning cigarette. I cut my eyes toward him, and he looked absolutely amazing with his long hair mussed all over the place and his eyes still half open with sleep...for a frog anyway. I lit my cigarette and took a drag.

"Bonjour, sexy Anglais." he said sleepily.

A tingle went down my spine at his morning greeting.

"Can I have one?" he said finally, and I realized that he wasn't looking at me but the cigarette. I grabbed the pack and handed it to him. He read it and made a face of disgust.

"Menthols? Yuck!" he blurted in his disgusting accent. He bent over the edge of the bed and grabbed a box from his jacket pocket. He place the cigarette in his mouth and turned to me.

"Got a light?"

I grabbed my match book and struck one. I held the little torch to his cigarette. He chuckled as I blew out the match.

"Who uses matches anymore?" he said looking at me.

"People who can't afford lighters...and people bumming a light from someone else. Now get out, frog,"

* * *

_**If you are chilly, here take my sweater.  
Your head is aching, I'll make it better.**_

**Cause I love the way you call me baby.**  
**And you take me the way I am.**

* * *

Francis pissed me off again.

I've been with him for 10 months now and we live together fairly happily but he is so obstinate sometimes.

I told him that I hate the way his accent defiles all of the English pet names he tries to give me. And I just plain hate the French ones.

All I asked him to do was just call me Arthur.

No pet names!

Yesterday I was in a particularly bad mood. It's winter and I hate winter! I had a hard day at work and I'd ripped a hole in the elbow of my favorite sweater. Then it had rained and sleeted and when I got home, I just wanted to have a quiet evening, but he was blasting French music while he cooked dinner. Then he turned to me and said, "Are you ready to eat, baby?" which came out more like "Are you ready to eat, bébé?"

That one little term of endearment made me blush and pissed at the same time!

So I launched into a stupid argument over everything he does that pisses me off and he left.

Later that night I heard a sneeze outside my window at 2 am. When I opened the curtains I saw Francis still in his short sleeved shirt, jeans, sneakers and apron standing outside shivering in the sleet.

I ran outside and hurried the bloody frog inside.

"Bloody idiot! What are you doing out in the cold?" I yelled.

"I forgot my key," he said sniffling.

"Well why didn't you knock?" I yelled again.

"Because I thought you were still mad and I didn't want to piss you off more," he said as I rushed to find something warm to put on his cold body. The only think in the vicinity was my favorite sweater with the rip on the elbow.

He pulled it tight around himself and then touched the little hole in the elbow.

"What happened to it?" he asked.

"It's just a rip, I'll fix it later," I said hurriedly trying to warm him up.

"Good, this is the sweater I got you for your birthday this year. It suits you perfectly,"

My cheeks pinked a little and I simply said, "I'll go make you some tea,"

When I came back with the tea he was laying on the couch with his eyes closed.

"Are you awake, Francis?" I asked timidly.

"Yes," he answered quietly.

"Then why the hell are your eyes closed bastard?" I asked a little miffed at my own timidity.

"I was just resting them. My head hurts a bit and the light isn't helping," he said evenly.

I went to get him some medicine for the headache. When I came back I made him sip some tea and take the medicine, and then let him lie his head in my lap...a rare luxury.

"Arthur...I'm sorry that my accent sometimes makes you mad by messing up your language..." he said quietly not opening his eyes as I massaged his temples.

I sighed deeply.

"Francis...you shouldn't have to apologize for things you can't help. I took my anger out on you and I'm sorry," I said.

I waited another moment before adding, "And I don't hate the way you say 'baby' I actually quite like it."

I thought he'd fallen asleep and was about to sigh with relief that he hadn't heard me when he said,"...ok, bébé..."

Bastard.

* * *

_**I'd buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair.  
Sew on patches to all you tear.**_

* * *

"It's a real problem, Arthur," Francis said to me with a troubled expression.

I just wanted to laugh.

I've been with Francis for 37 years now and the damn frog hasn't changed a bit...in personality. We are both a little softer that we were when we were 25, but we are pretty fit for older gentleman. The hair on the top of my head began to leave me when I was in my mid-40s and I bid it a happy adieu. It was messy anyway.

However, Francis has just started to lose his hair at 62. I noticed about 3 months ago he started wearing more hats.

Today though he accidentally ripped a hole in the top of his best newsboy cap.

"Francis I can just mend the hat for you," I offered trying very hard to reign in my laughter.

He glared at me and looked at the hat.

"It's not funny! I am going bald and you are laughing! And besides the hat doesn't mend the problem,"he said glaring at the hat as if it would start mending the problem.

"What do you want me to do then, oh balding frog of mine?" I asked as I looped my arms around his neck and gave him a little peck on the lips as I rubbed the balding spot on his head.

He kissed me back a little deeper. "Could you get me some Rogaine?" he nearly whispered onto my lips.

I started suddenly. "You want me to what?" I nearly yelled.

He looked away sheepishly still holding me to his body by the waist. "Please bébé, I will not be happy until I have at least tried it," he said using his blue eyes to plead with me.

"Francis you can't stop yourself from getting old! You still look damn good for a man of 62! Let the hair go!" I said a bit irritated.

"Please bébé, let me just try and if it doesn't work then I will let it...and my hair go," he said softly. I rolled my eyes and they kept rolling when he kissed THAT spot on my neck and his hands traveled from my waist to my bottom.

_Bastard_...I thought.

_Well...at least he doesn't need Viagra._

A month of Rogaine later and it seemed he still was losing hair and not gaining a strand, so he gave it up.

I pricked my finger 4 times mending a patch on that damn hat though...

* * *

_**Cause I love you more than I could ever promise.  
And you take me the way I am.**_

* * *

This will probably be my last written journal record. I have a couple of shelves of these damn things and my 88 year old arthritic hands just don't take to the pen anymore.

I don't think I can write about him any more because his memory hurts, but I never properly put to paper what happened to him and I think I should at least get that down before I quit the pen forever.

It's hard to believe he's been gone for 10 years now.

We'd had the best anniversary ever for our 52nd. He'd cooked breakfast for me, and taken me to the beach. Then I'd taken him to lunch and to the opera that night. When we returned home I gave him a painting that I'd painted myself. I had secretly been taking classes for the whole year trying to gain the one skill he cherished other than cooking.

Then he'd read to me in his amazing still heavy French accent, 52 quotes about love from 52 of the best British literary figures. I can't imagine how much work that must have taken him since he is terrible with computers I'm sure he had to look up every one!

Then he made love to me.

I am still surprised, that the man who often forgot his own intentions still remembered every sensitive spot on my body. It was slow and a little awkward, given our age, but it was probably the most sensual orgasm I'd ever had.

It literally brought tears to my eyes.

Then he curled up behind me and we slept in each others embrace as we'd done for 52 years.

The next morning I got up and used the restroom and when I came back and looked at Francis I realized he wasn't breathing.

Once the ambulance arrived I found out he'd been dead for a few hours. He'd had a cerebral aneurysm.

It hasn't been easy to live without him. I can't even describe what has kept me alive these 10 years...nor what kept me alive for the 23 years before I met him.

I'd like to end this last journal with a letter to my late and beloved Francis.

* * *

_**You take me the way I am.  
You take me the way I am.**_

* * *

_Francis,_

_How's heaven, frog? I hope you are having fun, but not too much without me. All I have to live for is your damned rose bush...or as you so affectionately deemed it..."our __bébé"_ !

_Who would have thought that the best one night stand I ever had would lead to the greatest love of my life. I'm too old to think the way I did then, but the memories I have of our pleasure together still make me blush and a little hot under the collar._

_ I miss you every moment I sleep and twice as much when I'm awake. _

_I __could never be frank about how much I loved you when you were alive. You know me well enough to know that it would have broken something in me to be that embarrassing, but since you've been gone I have been broken. It no longer matters._

_I haven't laughed in 10 years without crying immediately afterward. I'm sitting here in our drafty old house with my withered old body in that bedraggled first sweater that you bought for me. Despite this all I know you would say to me in that retched and sexy accent of yours... "but bébé, you ahr steell zooooo zexy!"_

_I'm a mess. Laughing and crying like a lunatic. _

_I promised that I would love you forever 57 years ago. But I believe that I love you much more. I don't think it humanly possible to express how much I love you!_

_But I'm writing this because I'm old and I need you so badly and yet I cannot have you. _

_You once asked me why I loved you..._

_I answered that I just did. But the truth is I love everything about you, even the stuff that pisses me off! Most of all you always took me the way I am and never asked me to change for you. _

_This letter is going to be short. _

_I'm growing quite tired just by writing a bloody letter. Old age is terrible. But I'll end with a quote from Shelley: _

"_First our pleasures die - and then our hopes, and then our fears - and when these are dead, the debt is due dust claims dust - and we die too."_

_I lost all of those things when I lost you...except my body the old thing just won't quit I guess._

_I'll see you soon, Love._

* * *

***Side note: When Arthur says "Blow Me..." he means like "Blow me over!" because he is so in awe of the hotness that is Francis Bonefoy!...or something like that!**

**Are you crying? I'm crying!*sob sob* **

**Anyway now that's off my chest I can get to more happy and amorous writing! :D**

**Hope you enjoyed it! R&R is love. Read and Review please!**


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